Prevention vs Exposition
by julian-juliana
Summary: Draco Malfoy, now a decent Auror employed at Headquarters, is doing his best to find the murderer of his friend Adrian Pucey. The deeper he digs into the investigation, he discovers a conspiracy that could throw the entire Wizarding World into chaos. To help him solve the case and prevent destruction of all that is familiar, he will need the help of anyone who will believe his outr
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Prevention vs. Exposition**

**Author:** Julian-Juliana

**Rating:** M (read warning for details)

**Pairings:** Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger; Draco Malfoy/Penelope Clearwater; (past) Draco Malfoy/Astoria; Draco Malfoy/OFCs; Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley; Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott.

**Warning: language, violence, torture, gore, adultery, implicit sexual themes, voyeurism, heavy sexual innuendo, light slash, minor character death, major character death, and drug references, divorce, OOC. (If you don't like, don't read. If you do read and don't like, don't comment your distaste on everything I warned about, I beg.)**

**Summary:** Draco Malfoy, now a decent Auror employed at Headquarters, is doing his best to find the murderer of his friend Adrian Pucey. The deeper he digs into the investigation, he discovers a conspiracy that could throw the entire Wizarding World into chaos. To help him solve the case and prevent destruction of all that is familiar, he will need the help of anyone who will believe his outrageous theory. Unfortunately, the only one who seems to believe him is Hermione Weasley nee Granger, and she's got enough problems of her own.

**Author's note:** Just for clarification, this story will be a Dramione. It will not start that way, but I'm a great believer in strange encounters which result in relationships. Let's read about one, shall we?

**Enjoy the Chapter 1. Please R&R**!

* * *

He was pissed to the bleedin' bones. Literally, it felt like his skeleton was effing sopped in Firewhiskey. His limbs were heavy, and his head wanted to break off his neck and roll back down the stairs.

Bloody flat! His mate, the soddin' bachelor that he was, felt it necessary to garnish his surrounding with something a little less prestigious and purchased him a roomy pad on the top floor of the building.

But it wasn't like Draco Malfoy trekked up all of those stairs. Just a few flights before remembering there was a blasted elevator. He'd apparate, but even in his non-sober mind, he knew he'd splinch himself something gory and fierce. Probably get killed or some rot. It certainly would be poetic justice. His mother had always warned him of the dangers of drinking and apparating.

Groaning, Draco leaned his forehead against the wooden door and fished for his wand. Theo's wards would allow him entrance once he waved his hawthorn at the doorknob. He heard the dead-bolt unclick, so he turned the knob and entered, feeling relieved but somewhat peeved that it was pitch black. He couldn't see a thing.

Slowly, Draco entered the flat and closed the door behind him. Soon his eyes adjusted, and he was able to make his way through the sitting area and to the door of the kitchen. Frowning, he looked down at the bottom of the door and saw that the lights must be on inside.

Was Theodore awake at this hour? Preposterous! The bloke was one of those hard-core swots who bedded no later than 9:30 and that was _with_ female companionship.

Hm. Perhaps he wanted a late night snack?

Perhaps Draco should open the door and see what the bloody hell his mate was doing in the kitchen at three o' clock in the morning.

While loosening his tie even further, he pushed the swing-door open and inquired through a yawn, "Mate, why are you awake at this hour, and can I have some tea?"

His eyes blurry and somewhat closed, he heard a startled gasp that most certainly did not belong to Theo, let alone a male. Once his vision was able to focus and adjust from the overhead light above the island counter, his eyes settled on a woman standing at the refrigerator with the door still open. In her hands were a cream puff and a glass of milk. She was also wearing Theo's old Quidditch jersey from Hogwarts from that _one_ year he played.

Focusing on the hemline of it, he skimmed her legs and deemed them respectable. They weren't terribly long, but they were toned and adequately proportionate to her average height. They were soft looking but sturdy and appeared to have a rounding voluptuous shape the farther they went up, like she'd easily be able to bear a child or several.

Her lady bits and torso were modestly covered by the jersey, and he decided her bosom was decent enough. Not overly huge but not disappointingly small. They were perky and full looking underneath the green and silver material.

Draco's eyes continued their adventure northward and then stilled when recognizing her face. Or more rather her hair and then her face. Long and curly and shamefully untamable were prefect adjectives to describe her locks. Hermione Granger's locks, that is.

"Granger," he sputtered and backed away, as if the island between them wasn't enough to separate them.

"Malfoy," she breathed out, her chest catching. She swallowed and let the fridge close before setting her snack on the counter. "This…This isn't what it looks like."

It was as if he hadn't guzzled that entire vintage bottle of Ogden's Finest. Sober like a humble priest, Draco stared in complete befuddlement at the witch in his best friend's kitchen wearing his mate's clothes and eating the bloke's food.

At three bloody A.M. in the morning, no less.

"What are you doing here?" he managed to ask because there was no logical explanation as to why she was there. Well, he could think of an explanation, but he was _not_ going to go there. Not _yet_. He'd dwell in the state of oblivion for a few minutes longer.

"Uh…" she croaked while wringing her hands which brought his attention to them and a violent wave of something...(nausea? astonishment? befuddlement?) consumed him. It took all of his will power not to fling himself back into the sitting room and go screaming to Theodore wherever he was and demand a bloody explanation.

Her left hand was not naked. And why should it be? It hadn't been for nearly eight years. For that long and even a few months longer, a ring had always occupied the slender digit. Draco did recall a day where she wasn't wearing it, and he just happened to pass by her office on his way to see Theo, his working inhabitance being the next one over. That slight glimpse he spared in her office, her small finger was not slender but puffy and visibly swollen from being seven months pregnant. That had been five years ago, nearly.

"Granger." Her name sounded foreign on his lips. True, Granger was not her name had not been for a long time, but even the brief moments they had together since Hogwarts, he could never stomach calling her Weasley.

Her small mouth was shaking, her entire body trembling out of fear. She stepped forward and braced herself against the counter and said in an ironically steady voice, "Please don't tell anyone."

And there went his state of deniability. In four words, Hermione Weasley nee Granger indirectly told him that it was not all right for her to be at his mate's flat at such an indecent hour. In four words, the woman indirectly told him that she should be elsewhere, perhaps even wearing her husband's uniform instead of Theo's.

Disappointment in her and his friend, egged on Draco's emotions. He had little room to judge, and Weasley wasn't his friend by any sort, but he had come to respect him as an Auror and as a partner on a few cases they had together a few times a year. The man had a talent for strategy and impressively applied it to the field when capturing Dark Wizards.

The disappointment digressed but was still present; however, jealousy took over which was completely irrational on his part. There wasn't any practical reason for him to feel such a way, but yet, it stung to see the woman who starred in his teenage wank fantasies sneaking about like an unfaithful trollop with someone who wasn't him.

Draco admitted to himself long ago that he fancied the bint during Hogwarts and for a while after. He even thought about finding a way of breaking her and Weasley up, but then they got married so fast, and he struck a distracting fancy to Daphne's younger sister, Astoria, for a couple of years. He thought about marrying her because they wanted the same things at the same time: a Pureblood wedding, more money, and a Pureblood heir with blond hair. Unfortunately, her unstable ex-boyfriend broke into her family home and cast a _Stupefy_ on her as she was walking down the stairs for her morning tea.

There was no denying the pain he felt when receiving the news of her passing. In his way, Draco loved her and maybe it would have be considered settling if they had married, but there were far worse people to settle with than Astoria. She was stunningly pretty, had a nice bum, laughed at his jokes, liked the feeling of galleons in her purse, and adored babies. The girl was never without her coin bag or cheque book, but she photographed for a hobby. In her spare time, she took pictures of newborn babies all posed and nearly naked for the parents.

Her funeral had been brutal and watching Daphne was pure agony, but Draco reckoned she got her closure. Two days before Miles Bletchley went on trial, he was sustained in a solitary jail cell at the law enforcement station three floors below his own. However, Bletchley did not awake the following morning after his night rest. According to the coroner, the man's heart seemed to have simply stopped beating. According to the file that Draco snatched for a quick read, there had been traces of magic but no known spell. It was compared to the _Avada Kedavera_ curse but more subtle and more painful.

An investigation pursued, but no law officer or detective came up with any explanation aside that one of the security guards on the floor had been_ Obliviated_. But Draco wasn't too worried about it and had let law enforcement do their job. He refused to wonder about who killed the monster that took away his shot at happiness. He had a feeling, though, that Daphne knew something.

"Well," Hermione said, tearing him out of his thoughts. She worried her bottom lip, and he was overcome on how attractive she became over the years. Given that she hadn't been unfortunate looking since the beginning of fourth year. She was the kind of pretty that flourished with age, and Draco couldn't help but selfishly think of how unfair it was the Theo snatched her before he got the chance.

"Well, what?" he asked, purposefully placing his attention on the snack she was going to consume instead of her face.

"You're not going to tell anyone are you?"

Only one thought came to mind and he snorted in slight disgust, "No one would believe me if I did, but uh…I think I'm going to sleep here for the night. Theo has an extra bedroom and since I'm assuming you are not sleeping there, it's still vacant. I'll…perhaps see you in the morning."

He left her in the kitchen and was irately alert, fancying breaking into Theo's liquor cabinet and nicking another nightcap. Instead, he wandered the hall and cast a frown at Theo's slightly open door before disappearing into the guest bedroom where he didn't sleep a wink until his eyes finally closed early in the morning. He couldn't have been asleep four minutes before the door burst open, being replaced by his friend. Theo's finger pointed threateningly at him, his hair matted and wild from sleep and, undoubtedly, sex.

"You saw nothing," his friend seethed lowly. "So you bloody well say nothing."

The door slammed, the sound echoing off the starchily, plain white walls and after a minute, Draco wondered if he dreamt the whole thing. When he got up and left the room to find coffee, he witnessed Granger rushing out the door while hopping on one foot, trying to put on her high-heeled pump while chatting on her Muggle cellphone.

"I'm on my way right now. No, it's fine. Plath will understand why I have to leave early. He's not as severe as you imagine, Ronald. He has a family, too. You don't need to worry. I'll be there as soon as I can. Yes. I love you, too. Bye, bye."

And then she was gone. He heard a popping noise outside of the door, knowing she had disapparated without even noticing he'd only been five feet away from her.

Theodore was at the dining table reading the _Daily Prophet_ while his half-eaten toast lay forgotten on his plate as did his half-smoked cigarette still smoldering in the neighboring ashtray. His hair was no longer mussed but presentable for work which was where he would be heading off to in the next twenty minutes.

Opening his mouth to speak, Draco was quickly cut off by his friend informing, "Granger got a call that her daughter is at St. Mungo's being treated for appendicitis and will not be joining us for breakfast. Shame. She usually prepares omelets."

"I wasn't asking," Draco muttered and sat at the table and thought it very odd that Granger made omelets for Theo. Making an egg cuisine for your secret lover wasn't something he imagined when thinking of an unfaithful spouse. What honestly came to mind was a series of discreet rendezvous-like meetings at obscure, expensive restaurants that led to long, passionate shags at some hotel.

And that was if you _liked_ the person.

If the relationship was purely physical which Draco was more familiar with, especially these last few years, then you didn't even have to buy the chit dinner.

So making omelets was not in the criteria familiar to Draco when it came to cheating wives. True, he never bedded a woman with that sort of commitment, but since Astoria, many of his relationships had been simultaneous. Not even a year ago, he was courting four women at the same time and none of them cooked him omelets. But some did expect dinner pre-shag.

Not all of them, thank Merlin! Ever since his _not _marriage to Astoria and not moving on properly to another witch, Lucius put a limit on his funds. And when he said limit, he meant he was currently without any form of inheritance and had to live off his Auror wages until he married. For a semi-respectable occupation, the pay was exceptionally meager. However, if and when Draco ever caught a fugitive or made a bust, he got bonuses. It was well-known at the office that he jumped like a hyped up puppy whenever Potter came marching between the cubicles with a folder in his hand.

Draco missed the limitless funds and the lazy vacations with the vintage wine and the beautiful women who didn't expect a Floo call in return. To say the least, those days had been brief. After the war, he spent a wee bit of time in Azkaban with his father awaiting his trail. When Potter testified for them in the Wizengamot, he was out and spent some time in Italy with Blaise and then quickly returned to Wiltshire. Draco had been nearly nineteen for five months when Potter confronted him and suggested he get into the Auror program.

_Bugger off_, he told the bespectacled git but then took the time to think about it. The idea was preposterous. It was damned debatable whether he should be the one arrested and not the arrestor. But his mother…

Blast that woman!

His mum insisted that he join the Auror program to restore respect to the Malfoy name.

He politely declined.

She then bellowed, _'Are you deaf? I wasn't asking, Draco Lucius Malfoy? I was demanding. Now you go talk to the Potter boy this very instant!'_

Now he was a reputable Auror with a pitiful monthly cheque, a flat not near as nice as Theo's, and two girlfriends who were more interested in each other than him. It had started out as an experiment for all of them which escalated into cancelled dinner plans and _'Bianca and I really just want a girl's night tonight. You understand.'_

Running a hand through his sort of greasy, messy hair, Draco made a coughing sound and leaned back in his chair. "So she makes you omelets, huh? That's…that's nice."

Theodore set down his paper and drank from his coffee cup and then informed, "She sometimes cooks bacon, too and garnishes the dish with a mint leaf. Honestly, I don't much care for breakfast, but when she makes it, I eat it. She tells me I have to before I attend an all day meeting."

"Oh," Draco said softly, hoping that he didn't give off the vibe of how uncomfortable he was about Theo's 'all day meetings'. He really had no right to judge given his Auror status, having faced difficult decisions in the field. Yet it still bothered him that he was best friends with a Hit Wizard and not the kind sanctioned by the Department of Law Enforcement. Theo's level of work was more...advanced.

Not that Theodore had divulged him of such details, for the occupation had become part of the Unspeakable Program in the Ministry. Nevertheless, Draco wasn't born yesterday and was part of the ministry in the law enforcement aspect. He picked up on the signs. Even when Ronald Weasley hadn't, poor sod. Bloke gave no indication that he knew of Hermione's real job. For all he knew, she was making bank as an international representative of the Care of Magical Creatures for Western Europe. If Weasley had done a bit of homework, he'd realize that those representatives make less than Aurors and would wonder how he and his wife can afford dance lessons, piano lessons, Muggle badminton lessons, and pre-wand tutoring lessons for their daughter.

"Unfortunately, Hermione is gone and was unable to feed me; therefore, I made toast," he explained and gestured to his place of crispy bread with a nod of his chin. "I burnt it."

"Why don't you get a house-elf then?"

"She won't allow it."

Draco frowned at that, utterly confused. The bint killed people for a living and shamelessly cheated on her husband but banned her lover from having a house-elf? Great Gods, she was a strange creature.

"She is aware that they get paid now. Can't just enslave them like you used to," said Draco.

"I told her that, thus, resulting a fortnight of me and my hand."

Raking his fingers across his face, another question rose in Draco's mind and feared what the answer would be, yet he had to know. "How long has this been going on? I'm assuming it's not new."

"No, it isn't, but the less you know the better. Possible chance of deniability if needs be."

"Right," Draco said vaguely and lightly scoffed, opening his hands in surrender. "I suppose that's gracious of you if Weasley ever finds out. But this is simply…Theo, this isn't like you."

"If you are addressing my lack of morals and ethic, Draco, then you should know better than to say such lies."

"What I'm saying is that you usually avoid things that promise a disastrous result."

At his words, Theo leaned back in his chair and interlocked his fingers, a pensive expression in place. After a pregnant pause, he drawled, "And what if it doesn't end disastrous…for me, I mean? What I have with Hermione could very well end in my favor. Things have gone swimmingly so far. Like I mentioned before, she makes me omelets."

Appalled by his mate's response, Draco braced himself momentarily, scrounging for a response that would make his usually sensible friend see reason. Finally, he grasped at a thought and went with it.

"But I bet she makes them for Weasley, too. He doesn't seem starved when coming into work each morning." He snapped his fingers at another thought popping into his head and pointed at Theo. "He's also not without a packed lunch most days, and from what I've gathered of those meals, they're definitely not prepared by a man."

"His mother…" Theo's words faded when Draco shook his head and scratched at his neck.

"Yes, her passing two years ago was saddening…and dangerous. Weasley was suspended from the field for the six months after because he let Vivica Dolohov get away. Plus, I almost…you know…_died_ on that mission."

Theo's gaze hardened, his wrinkled, slouched brow casting a foreboding shadow over his hazel eyes. Draco was very much reminded of the Theodore Nott Senior. Their resemblance was uncanny, especially at this moment.

Nott Senior was a madman and supposedly somewhere in the tropics with half of the Nott's liquidated assets, spending his time away where no one could recognize him, specifically his son. From what little Draco knew about their father-son relationship was that Theodore was trying to find his father for two reasons: Money and more money. The reward money for Senior's dead or alive capture was worth one million galleons. With the old man knocked off, Draco's friend would get the rest of his inheritance, become a Hit Wizard as a hobby of some sort, take the money and restart Nott Enterprises.

"I'm well aware of the medial tasks Hermione is required to perform underneath her matrimonial vows."

"Yes, because part of the _I do_ requirement was for Weasley to have breakfast and lunch made for him by Granger. I'm sure she was accepting of that. Face it, Theodore, everything she's doing for you, she's doing for another man. _Her husband_."

"You're silly attempts of dissuading me away from mine and Granger's relationship aren't working. If everything was peachy between those two, then how come she propositioned me?"

Well, that was alarming? Granger initiating the affair. Draco had a difficult time believing that, so he cocked a dubious eyebrow and expectedly Theo folded with disgruntled sigh. "Fine, it was I who first propositioned her and of course she refused outright. For all the times following, she dodged my requests for her companionship except _one_ time. And that was all it took. A foot in the door. She could've easily kept denying me or let me have her once, but no. She willingly comes for me…in more ways than one. Now if you will excuse me, I have a meeting scheduled in Berlin in twelve minutes, and I believe you are late for work." Theodore got up from his seat, adjusted his tie and cuffs, and went to exit the dining area. Before rounding the corner, he spared Draco a glance and said, "And, oh. Since I'm assuming Weasley will not be in attendance today at the office, I'm merely worried over Potter. Refrain from letting him think you're harboring a secret. It was not my intention for anyone to know about me and Hermione. You upset her quite a bit last night. The only way I was able to persuade her from ending things between us indefinitely was your ultimate and messy demise if you spoke of this to anyone. I would very much loath the idea of killing you, Draco. It would leave Zabini as my only ally. We _can't_ have that, can we?"

Theodore didn't wait for an answer and vanished around the corner.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're late," alleged Potter, not even giving Draco the decency to look at him, the man's bespectacled gaze on the file in his hand.

"I know," Draco grumbled, leaning back in his chair and tossing his quill to the side. Mission reports be damned! Honestly, how in the hell was he supposed to write ten pages on _nothing_. The mission was a complete waste of time. Felix was not in Bremen like Potter's German source had promised, the lying twit! He and Weasley were forced to camp a quarter of a mile away from a cabin that was supposedly housed their suspect. For two days and two nights, they waited. For what, Draco wasn't sure. All he knew was that his ginger-haired partner brought pails and pails of food made by his sexy wife and wasn't partial in sharing, the selfish toad!

"Weren't those the clothes you wore yesterday?" Potter asked in revulsion.

"Of course not," lied Draco and kicked up his feet to rest them on the desk, giving the impression of laziness and cool composure. "Besides your allegation of my tardiness, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Potter?"

"No, I'm positive those rags were the ones you had on yesterday. Walk of shame, Malfoy? Actually spent a _whole_ night with Hannah's new barmaid?"

Pursing his lips, Draco rehashed the memory of being slapped a good one from Whatshername who worked at the Leaky Cauldron when she invited him back to her place for drinks.

And she really meant for drinks.

Like coffee because ironically, she doesn't drink alcohol.

The moment Whatshername and Draco entered her cozy little cottage, he cupped her face and kissed her passionately. This led him into discovering that she also didn't put out unless someone bought her dinner first. Yes, Whatshername was one of those chits Draco was almost unable to afford.

After that humiliating adventure was when he apparated to Theo's place, and then things got sadly sobering. He still stood by the unfair notion that his mate got to Granger before he did. Gods, he didn't even know the man fancied her.

"Jealous, Potter? Does the missus boot you out of the bedroom when she's done defiling your manky body? Can't even bask in the sunrise together?" he smarmily inquired, using his jealousy to fuel the disgust in his tone.

A not so lovely sneer morphed on his boss's face. Potter then closed the file he had in his hands and shook it pointedly, growling, "You results came this morning, Malfoy, as did Ron's."

Draco stilled and then hastily stood up, smoothing out his wrinkled tie. "And?" he urged, his voice trembling.

Please, please, _please_! he chanted internally, wanting very much to hop up and down like the floor was on fire.

"_And_ it's going to Thomas," finished Potter coolly and tossed the file on Draco's desk.

"Thomas?" Draco barked incredulously and seized the discarded file. "You've got to be joking." He flipped open the folder and skimmed his tests results and muttered, "Shit," underneath his breath. He missed one question concerning a theoretical situation and what his instincts would have been to ratify the problem.

"The board and _I_ discussed it carefully, Malfoy. Off the record, Thomas' score was perfect, so he will be getting the position as the Head of Field Division."

Closing his eyes, Draco leaned his head back and whispered, "Bullocks."

"You should be grateful, Malfoy. Ron was one right answer away, too. Imagine if it had been him. I doubt you'd be so quiet and practically passive." Potter took of his glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his white-button up shirt. "But am I sorry. I know how badly you wanted that position."

Potter went to leave, but Draco had to ask. "Before you go, I want to know if the reason I didn't get the job was strictly upon my answer and not my past transgressions."

The man cocked his head to the side and leaned his side against the doorframe of Draco's doorway. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

"I guess not," Draco said softly, inwardly cursing the man's existence. Even if Harry Potter were to die an unfortunate death, there would still be the bloody Board.

What did it matter, though? It was only a job. A higher paying job with more benefits and control.

"Besides, Malfoy, you're good in the field. You _are_ my best Auror. You don't hesitate which _is_ great, and you know when a fugitive isn't worth bringing in alive. But you're not ready to call the shots yet."

"Spare me of your uplifting nonsense and give the rest to Weasley," Draco bitterly spat, unable to bear more of Potter's condescending speech. "He'll be more peeved, I assure you."

Which meant annoying struggles in the field. Weasley was a decent Auror, but his biggest flaw was letting his own mistakes get the better of him. The humiliation stung his pride, thus, significantly lowering his confidence. A Dark Wizard isn't all that impressed if an Auror loses his cool and starts stuttering out lame threats.

When Potter left him to his thoughts, Draco considered losing his own cool and threaten resignation if he wasn't given at least a raise in salary for Salazar's sake. But if the sod didn't take the bait, then he would be without a job and would be financially crippled.

Maybe he could go back to school.

He snorted. Going back meant having gone before. Uni had not seemed like a pleasant idea after that eighth year repeat, but he could go now. It was all the rage for old blokes getting their degree, and Draco wasn't that old. Twenty-eight was still young-ish. Depending on who you asked…and where.

Plus, one needed finances when going to uni. Loans were a possibility, but Draco refused to be the laughing stock of Gringotts. He could just imagine those hideous goblins sniggering to each other in their low, ugly voices about how a Malfoy had to take out a bloody loan to go to school.

A knock on his open door roused Draco from his bad ideas. He looked up and saw a rigid, thirty something gentlemen dressed smartly in an expensively tailored suit with polished shoes. Smirking, he drawled, "Potter's office is three down and is partial being the bottom."

"Tempting," the bloke said in a Yankee, deadpanned voice. He entered the office and closed the door behind him, triggering Draco's fingers to reach for his wand in the holster underneath his desk. "But I'm here to speak with you. About your test results from the exam you recently took."

"Are you from the board?" Draco rushed out and the man shook his head no.

"No, in fact," he smirked lightly and stole a chair across from the other wizard, "I have nothing to do with the Auror program."

Eying the man curiously, Draco kept his fingers on his wand and asked, "Who are you?"

The man slid his hand into his coat pocket, and Draco yanked his wand out of the holster, wasting no time in pointing it the man's head. Unperturbed by the threat, the man fished out small rectangular piece of paper that resembled a business card and offered it to Draco.

"What is that?" he inquired.

"An offer," the man simply stated and then clarified slowly and knowingly, "A _job_ offer."

"I have a job, thanks."

"That will take you nowhere, Mr. Malfoy." The man flicked the card on the desk and stood up from his seat, backing towards the door. Before exiting he requested, "There's an address, date, and time. Come alone."

Once the man left, Draco picked up the card and examined the lack of words, wryly whispering, "I usually do."

* * *

Sitting in front of the fireplace with a glass of century old scotch he nicked from the manor on his last visit, Draco studied the blank card wedged between his forefinger and middle finger. In the background, he overheard his girlfriends in the bedroom eagerly starting the party without him again which was fine. He'd become accustomed to not being resentful and adopted a mode of self-pity instead. How many blokes bragged about making two perfectly straight young women in becoming intimate with each other?

Touching the crisp, sturdy card to his lips, Draco whispered, "Ostendo."

A riddle appeared on the card, the words in Latin. He knew the answer to it halfway through the passage: a picture frame. However, he was unsure whether to announce it to the card as of yet. The man who came to his office that morning did not say who he was with, but from the sounds of it, he may be from Unspeakable Department. Getting all dodgy and purposefully vague was their style.

_A job offer,_ the man had said which rung loud and clear in Draco's skull, and it was true that his employment with the Auror program wasn't taking him anywhere. Thomas had got Draco's ticket out from under the oppressing thumb of Potter and the Board. Unless the bloke kicked off soon, striving for bonuses was going send him to an early grave.

Either way, being an Auror for the rest of his life was not something Draco could tolerate.

"Picture frame," he said to the card. The Latin etchings shimmered away and was replaced with elegant cursive writing that stated,

_9:38 __P.M._

_Hogwarts Astronomy Tower_

_Thursday, April 11__th_

_Bloody hell!_

Draco checked his watch and leapt to his feet. How was he supposed to make it to bleedin' Scotland in ten minutes? It was out of apparating bounds, damn it!

But if he could Floo…

Which he was unable to do from his flat. His Visually Charmed furnace was only to keep the ambiance of his humble abode pleasant in appearance. It was able to make calls, but no one could step in or out of the flames, that was for damned sure.

Another possibility was illegally casting the _Portus_ Charm on an object which would take him to Scotland. He wouldn't get arrested for it, though, just an angry Howler from a cubicle-dwelling sod in the lower division of law enforcement who took his job way too seriously. Also, an eye-roll from Potter was bound to occur.

Draco chose the card to become the victim of the _Portus_, but when his when his wand touched the paper, the familiar hooking sensation behind his stomach tugged and he was travelling through time and space, landing gracelessly on a stone floor, looking up at the semi-familiar scene of the Astronomy Tower. He hadn't paid a visit in nearly a decade, so it wasn't like it was affable to him.

Groaning, he curled up into a sitting position, his wand tightly gripped in his hand. His mind was on high alert. The business card acted as a direct portkey into Hogwarts grounds which was _supposedly _impossible. Since the fall of the Dark Lord, the school attained more protective charms than a UPA after a terrorist attack, thus, reminding Draco if he ever came across Felix Gérard again, he'd say the spell necessary to prevent that man from repeating the same horror that struck so many innocents.

"You're early," a voice stated melodically from the dark. Training kicked in and Draco gracefully climbed to his feet.

The hidden man's tone was older, deeper but like the bloke from the office, the accent was American. Though it wasn't unheard of that the Yanks sometimes worked with the Brits; indeed, it had been them who came in and took over after the war and purged the ministry, neutralizing any possible suspect holding on to the Dark Lord's beliefs. Their dominating dealing with the politicians and ministry employees were cold and aloof and downright humiliating. It was like having a flock of spry young offspring return home and fix the mess their estranged parents had let happen in the home.

Kingsley had given a quote to the new and improved _Daily Prophet_ by saying, _"We did the same for them many years ago. Their debt is repaid, and we shall move on with our new and improved Ministry of Magic."_

Minister Kingsley was referring to the collapse of what was then called the Union Ministry where the entire magical government fell apart from extreme racial issues which had nothing to do with Blood Status but ethnicity. It had something to do with a bloody Muggle Civil War that seeped its wretchedness into the Magical community, thus, instigating conflict there, as well. The magical armies of both sides damned near wiped each other off the bloody face of the planet. When the Union Minster was offed, word got back to Britain and a battalion put a halt to the hostilities and threatened to take back the independence their Muggle ancestors unknowingly claimed for them if the fighting didn't seize immediately. The last remaining survivors of both American armies were enraged by this threat but saw it futile to argue. They had extinguished their numbers to the brink of extinction and were no match for a well-prepared army of perfectly trained combat wizards. The Americans had little choice but succumbing to the forced reform.

The reorganizing did little to soothe the hatred brewing between the two American parties. If anything, it angered the southern half of the States even further when the British and the Northern states outlawed human enslavement and prevention of _all _(with the exception of women of any origin) ethnicity from purchasing a wand and attending school. The minorities were ecstatic, but racism from then and currently were still issues the Yanks faced.

Much to the chagrin of the female population, ladies were prohibited from doing much other than lying back and thinking of freedom until the early 1900s.

Draco inwardly snorted at the thought. And those bastards called England 'old fashioned', the hypocrites.

"Yeah, well, I was excited," Draco said lightly, commenting on the hidden man's statement. He coughed uncomfortably and peered through the darkness, a small beacon of light from the moon shining through the Astronomy Tower. Wand still strained out in front of him, he watched for movement.

"Do you recognize where you are, Mr. Malfoy?" the man asked.

"It's the Astronomy Tower, obviously." Draco frowned and turned around, wondering if the man's voice was coming from behind him.

"Do you know why we are here?"

"To discuss a job offer, but I have to say your lack of etiquette is dissuading me. It's usually proper to face the contender when conducting a job interview, Mister…"

"The job is yours if you want it. I wouldn't have sent Todd to gather you if I didn't want you."

Whipping his head to the side, Draco swore the voice was coming from his right. He silently crept towards the darkest part of the tower and would cast a _lumos_ if he wasn't keen on playing this bastard's game, but it had been too long since Draco played a proper game of snake and mouse.

Besides the money the Auror bonuses offered, the hunt was the second reason Draco thrived for them.

"Then why go to such extremes? Why not have _Todd_ tell me I'm hired right away and save us both an unnecessary trip to Scotland."

"Ah, but it is not unnecessary, Mr. Malfoy. In fact, it is quite obligatory, this meeting. Do you know why we are here?" repeated the man. "Why the Astronomy Tower was chosen for our meeting? Look around, son."

Draco surveyed the area behind him, positive the man's voice was coming from over there near the trickle of moonlight. Spryly, he slithered over and around the corner and came face-to-face with a man close to his sixties standing in front of the balcony. He wore a midnight black suit, perfectly tailored like the Todd bloke and was rather tall and broad shoulder for an aging gentleman. One hand was in his trouser pocket and the other was holding his wand loosely between his fingertips at his side.

"Once before you've been in the same position at this very spot," the man said knowingly, causing a paralyzing tremor to overcome Draco. Dread swept over him as he soaked in his surroundings.

Great Gods, how could he have forgotten?

Bile burned its way up his esophagus. When it licked at the back of his throat, Draco swallowed it with a glare and hoarsely confirmed, "So I have."

The man stepped towards him, the stream of moonlight capturing the features of his face which seemed carved out of stone. He dug his heel into the stone flooring and turned, beginning a pace.

"You, Mr. Malfoy, have a habit of hesitating at life's most crucial moments."

Brows cinching together, Draco frowned at the accusation, his wand wavering. Was the man addressing an event he wasn't even present for, the utter prick?

Appalled by the audacity of the man's words, Draco hissed out, "What are you saying? Are telling me I should've gone through with it? Killed him? It wouldn't have mattered. The war would have ended the same, bloody and unfair."

The man stopped his pacing and turned towards him, his hands resting behind his back. "Perhaps you are right, son, but the night you were up here, you hesitated. Changed history. Yours and maybe even all of England's. I've read your file, Mr. Malfoy, and we've been watching you for a long time."

"Who's _we_?" asked Draco, sharply. "The Unspeakable Program?"

The man chuckled throatily. "Not so much, no."

"Then who are you? I demand a straight answer."

"We are not part of one ministry…or of any government but _all _of them. We are an agency, if you will, formed as the result of non-magical attacks on international communities."

"I haven't heard about any of these attacks," protested Draco, considering the man could very well be a high-profile quack. If that were the case, then he'd gladly escort him to the law enforcement division at the ministry and catch a few winks before work tomorrow.

"They are silent. The English, French, American, and Russian ministers do not want the masses to know. It would cause an epidemic. An uprising. International wars between the Magical and the Muggle. If you want to talk about wars ending bloody and unfair, imagine one consisting of our people with theirs."

Draco's shoulder was growing tired. Confident the man wasn't going to hex or kill him as of yet, he lowered his wand and rolled his aching joint with a wince. "Say I believe you. Are you telling me that Muggles are trying to invade?"

"They already have."

Draco's lips twitched and he scoffed, shaking his head. "Muggles don't know about us, and they most certainly cannot get passed the Muggle Repel Charms."

"You may be unaware, Mr. Malfoy, but their leaders are required to know about us. Even your Muggle Prime Minister is aware."

"I know _that_, but I see little connection as to how that means those blithering Muggles are invading. What? Are they sending spies in to monitor us?" Draco chortled and shook his head. The man was a stark raving lunatic, and they said that Americans were sensible folk. No, the last thing Draco ever needed was to get mixed up in a paranoid infested group that was targeting a race. He did that once, and he was still paying for it.

"Yes," the man replied coldly. "They are."

The bloke seemed pretty convinced Muggles were dwelling among them, and Draco debated which spell would be best to incapacitate him, so they both arrived at St. Mungo's unscathed.

"You still don't believe me," he said and then ironically chuckled, tilting his head back lazily. "Fair enough, but what if I told you Muggles aren't sending _Muggles_ to spy on us. What if I said they're sending in witches and wizards, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I've done my best in staying polite, but now I'm at my limit. You need help, and I highly suggest you get yourself a psych evaluation. Good night. I must be leaving. Thank you for the job offer, but no thanks. What it sounds like to me is that you have bigotry issues that I'd rather not get caught up in, so good night, sir. I'll even do you a favor and not alert the school about a strange man inside the boundaries…that is if you leave within in the next thirty seconds."

"Thirty seconds?" laughed the man, making no move to leave. "Always hesitating…even though that Potter said differently. For a war hero, that boy is certainly _too_ kind. It's goddamn miracle he hasn't died yet."

"Leave." Draco aimed his wand, targeting the man's forehead. "Or I will make you leave."

The man stroked his beard and said, "I apologize for boring you, son. You obviously want me to get to the point of this conversation. Fine. Muggle-born witches and wizards are being tracked down and recruited by their Muggle governments. Then they are ordered to come here, spy, report, and eliminate if necessary."

"Eliminate?" repeated Draco, the corners of his mouth twitching in mirth. "Bullocks, I tell you. At first I thought you were insane, but now I'm afraid you may be contagious. I think you are far past help, my friend. Muggle-borns? Really? No Muggle-Born would _ever_ agree to spy for the Muggles. They are a part of the magical community, and it would be-"

"Treason," finished the man, nodding solemnly. "But you are wrong. Muggle-Borns all over the world are agreeing to put their Muggle heritage and loyalty in front of their natural magical right. They are putting in danger the people of our world."

The morbidity of his tone caused Draco to take a step back. As an Auror, it was common in coming across radicals who believed in unimaginable things. They were often dangerous, and sometimes it was better, _safer_, to put them down rather than take them in to custody.

Draco's training told him to gain the man's trust by letting him talk before actually shooting a hex or a curse at him. It seemed best to catch the man off guard. The blond then asked, "Like I said, no Muggle-Born would do that. But if by chance I'm wrong, why would they do that? Why bite the hand that feeds them?"

"Why does anyone become a traitor? Because they found a more _giving_ hand. It's all politics and money, Mr. Malfoy. Things I'm sure your father taught you to appreciate."

He made a valid point. Nothing talked louder than gold and power, and together they were intoxicating things to behold.

"Say what you want about Muggle-Borns, Mr. Malfoy. They're not that much different from the older magical families. All you've got to do is give them a good enough reason to work in your favor, and they will do it."

Draco nodded, half-listening. "So my job would be what exactly? Pick out the spies and report them to the ministry and have them sent to prison for treason?"

"We know the spies," the man said loftily. "Most of them anyway. It would be your job to neutralize them."

Draco stilled at his words. Was this barmy codger actually asking him to kill people?

"Tempting, isn't it?" The man smirked and fished a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting the tip with a finger before placing it in his mouth.

"Not really," Draco murmured and used his free hand to scratch his forehead. Yes, by becoming an Auror, there were certain decisions he was obligated to make. To put it plainly, yes he had taken lives, but always out of self-defense in the field. What this man was asking him to do was murder. Or perhaps a less vulgar but much more dangerous term—assassinate.

"Come now, Mr. Malfoy. Imagine all the good it would bring. Safety for your family, your friends, your allies. These spies are committing serious offences. They are killing and betraying the system. Both of these crimes are worthy of capital punishment."

"Then they should be brought in and put on trial for their crimes. I'm not a hit wizard. I don't kill unless the enemy forces my hand."

The man sucked in sharply and then exhaled the rancid fumes of his fag. He nodded pensively and shrugged. "Well, I thought I had to at least give it a try. I had thought you would have more balls, kid. Smart-mouth brats like you always trying to prove how tough they are."

"I'm afraid I'm not like that anymore. If you'll excuse me, I plan on returning home."

"Of course. Do me a favor, please. Don't mention our meeting to anyone."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco said. No one would believe him anyway. The last thing he needed was to go yammering about murderous American wizards and Muggle-Borns spies. He'd look like a raving lunatic, and that'd make Mother upset and Father sniff in dismay.

"But if you change your mind," the man handed him a card similar to the one Draco was given before. He lowered his wand and accepted the offering hesitantly. "Contact me."

* * *

A/N: Read and Review, please! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So yes, I'm aware that the first two chapters may not make sense to my readers, but they are important and things will fall into place eventually. The story's a mystery. I can't make everything predictable.

And I will repeat that this fic is destined to be a _**Dramione; **_I just simply loath the idea of making it so easy for them to get together. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. :)

* * *

The next morning at work, Weasley appeared to have not slept a wink the night before. Running into him in the break-room during lunch, Draco couldn't help but make a jab, knowing that the bloke's wife was an unfaithful twat. They may not hate each other anymore, but friendship was not an option, either.

"You look dead tired, mate. That swot wife of yours keep you up all night?" commented Draco, leaning against the ice box and sipping at his coffee while Ron yawned and started unpacking his lunch pail. The blond's stomach grumbled in jealousy at the other wizard's meal. Still steaming, two loaded potatoes with extra cheese, a porcelain container that revealed a slab of thick, juicy steak, along with a sensible side salad heavily doused with cherry tomatoes and shredded carrots.

Regardless if Weasley wasn't getting intimacy from his fetching wife, he sure as hell was being fed, the lucky bastard. In the past five years, Draco courted thirteen different girls and none of them ever cooked for him. When he had been with Astoria, he discouraged her from the kitchen, for she was not gifted at all in the culinary department, the poor darling.

Yawning once more, Ron then replied with a pleased smirk, "Yep."

Once again, jealousy licked like hot flames at Draco. Why was it always the undeserving sods that got the best girls, huh?

"Plus," Weasley piped up with tired sigh. "Little Rosie had to be taken to St. Mungo's for an appendectomy. She'll be fine which puts a bloody hell of less strain on my heart. Die without her, I would. Just you wait until you have kids, Malfoy. They make your life hell, but it's a whole lot worse when their hurt. Hey, when are you going to settle down anyway? Not getting any younger and certainly not more attractive."

"Bugger off," Draco cursed grumpily, grumbling under his breath. "Like I told my parents, the right one hasn't come along yet."

"They don't come along, Malfoy." Weasley shook his head and stabbed a fork into a cherry tomato from his salad. While chewing, he continued, "You have to find them."

"Oh, and I reckon you found Granger." Draco tried not to sound bitter when saying it. In fact, he was almost positive that he struck a fancy to the bint before that ginger-haired fool had.

"Naw." He shook his head and beamed. "She was already there," he said and lifted his fork as to make a point. "And when they're already there, all you have to do is whatever she says because you are wrong and always will be. You put up with her stubbornness because she cooks as good as your mum, she's pretty, she's a good mother, and you love her no matter what."

"This seems like it's getting personal, so I'm going to leave." Draco mockingly cringed and made a dash towards the hallway but careful enough as to not spill a drop of coffee. When he arrived back at his office, the moment he sat down, Miss Clearwater poked her head in and knocked on his doorframe.

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Malfoy, but I was sent to collect your report on your last field assignment. Mr. Potter wants it right away," she informed politely.

Draco dug for it inside his right hand drawer and offered it to the woman. She smiled and entered the office fully, giving him the opportunity to snatch a spectacular view of her long legs leading up to the short pinstriped skirt.

Penelope made a grab for the file, but he intentionally moved it out of reach and said, "Have a drink with me tonight."

"Again, Mr. Malfoy? Won't Bianca and Theresa miss you?" Her smile was inquisitive and playful, her left eye gifting him a wink. "All right. But I want dinner, too, this time."

_Blast_, Draco hissed within but continued to grin outwardly, finally handing over the file while saying, "Do you like Italian?"

"You know I do. Meet me at my cubicle at seven. I'll be the only one in the area." After a beat, she added, "Like always."

When seven o' clock came around, Draco tidied up his desk and left the office, going in search for Penelope. He found her inside her cubicle where she said she would be speedily writing inside a folder. Noticing his presence, she looked up at him and smiled.

"I'll be done in just a few seconds." With that said, she put the quill aside and closed the folder before placing it into her neighboring cabinet. "There."

"I forgot to ask how your vacation was," Draco said as Penelope gathered her purse.

She rolled her eyes with a sigh. "It was hardly a vacation, Mr. Malfoy. All I did was take an extra day over the weekend. But visiting my brother was more than welcoming in my busy life."

Letting the witch slide her arm through his, he escorted out of the office and towards the elevators.

"I didn't know you had a brother," he said with as much interest as he could muster. He wasn't really all that intrigued, but the more questions he asked about her personal life, the chance of getting sex that night increased dramatically.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, I have a brother. I paid a visit to him because his wife just had another baby a week ago."

"Another baby?"

See, he was a pro at this.

"Surely, I have discussed Madelyn with you. I'm always talking about her." As they entered the elevator, she unpocketed a picture, a Muggle one, of a little girl no older than three with curly hair like her aunt's but was ashy blonde. "See, isn't she darling?"

Children weren't really Draco's thing. He believed in protecting them, their innocence, and whatnot. But he certainly didn't see why people, especially women, went completely bonkers over them. They were loud, obnoxious, often violent, selfish, and messy. They also cost loads of money. Just to get a moppet born and through Hogwarts was presently 15,000 galleons. And by the time Draco managed to produce an offspring, that number may very will increase by another ten thousand galleons.

He mentally snorted at himself. If he managed to score a bride first before producing an illegitimate child, then his financial worries were nothing to be worried about.

On that note, Draco was reminded of his ex-girlfriend Alice who he courted for a whopping three months two years previously. She was now residing in France designing outrageously overpriced formal dresses and wedding gowns, but supposedly, he fathered her precious little Samuel.

Five months after their relationship ended, and she was nothing more than a vague memory, Alice showed up at his door with an extra stone or two around her middle. Instead of doing the practical thing like saying something along the lines of _'maybe we can work something out'_, she dove head first into legalities and wanted money out of him and _fast_. Until it was discovered that his trust fund was frozen, his inheritance in the wings, and he was sadly making less than she was. At the time, she was in charge of redesigning the Hogwarts uniform which made Draco feel like a waste of talented arse because what he did made a difference compared to what that bitch was doing.

Alice disappeared rather quickly after that, and Draco never went after her to prove the baby was his. Blood tests were never done, their lawyers forgot the whole thing, and life got back to normal. He never even saw the kid. But sometimes, not often, he'd think about him and wonder if it was really his. Perhaps when his parents died and he never married and got to the point where he wasn't able to control holding in his own farts, he'd investigate. Draco may have set fire to all of his father's quack theories and racist shite, but one thing that couldn't be squandered was the need for a Malfoy heir.

"She is darling," Draco pleasantly agreed and wrapped his arm around her and kissed the side of her head. "So where were you hoping to dine tonight?"

Penelope put the picture away and sank into his embrace. The elevator dinged, informing them they arrived to the main level of the ministry. Making an indecisive humming noise, she replied, "What about that restaurant your friend owns? It just opened up two weeks ago."

"Valentina's?"

"Yeah."

Blaise owned the restaurant, and Draco had yet to sample the food but was grateful his mate had nothing to do with preparations of the meals. The bloke was a terrible chef but liked to spread his wealth by putting his name on businesses. He was quite the entrepreneur and was talented in taking a failing business and transforming it into a super,b money-making industry. Take Valentina's for example. Three months ago it was on the brink of shutting down, but in came Blaise and transformed the homely Italian café into one of the tastiest establishments in the United Kingdom.

"So can we go?" Penelope asked eagerly as they waited in line for a free Floo to open up.

"If it's really what you want," he said dotingly and discreetly pinched her bum. She squeaked and flushed, playfully swatting him on the chest.

"Not here. Someone will see," she hushed.

"Which makes it more fun."

When they arrived at the restaurant, Penelope giggled in pleasant surprise when they were seated right away, not having to wait in line for not having a reservation. Draco may be slumming with the commoners, but he still had friends in high places. He was mostly relieved that he wouldn't have to pay a single knut for the two meals. Of course he wasn't going to let his date know that. Wouldn't want her to think he was getting cheap on her.

"So does Mr. Zabini come here often?" she asked, smiling in gratitude at the server who was filling her wine glass.

"No," Draco answer curtly and then laughed. "In fact, I don't even think he's even been in the building. One day he was walking passed the former Valentina's, saw an opportunity to make money, made the right calls, and here it is."

"Wow." Her eyes widened comically, and she whistled, impressed by his friend's tactics. "Kinda makes me think I chose the wrong career."

"You're not the only one," he joked. They both shared a snicker, and Draco wondered if he should make this thing with Penelope permanent. She most certainly was pretty enough. Brilliant enough. Funny enough. It didn't matter to him that she was four years older than him. His father wouldn't like it. Or simply her, but Draco hadn't dated a proper Pureblood debutant since Astoria.

When their food was ordered and underway, he bucked up the courage and hinted, "We've been…sort of dating for a while now, Miss Clearwater, which is causing me to wonder if-"

"You already have two girlfriends, Draco," she reminded. "I'm not interested in being a third. The arrangement we have is fine."

Draco nodded dumbly, feeling like an embarrassed tosser, and stuttered out, "O-Okay, good. Great, but if they were no longer to be my girlfriends and simply…flat-mates?"

"Flat-mates?" She rested her head on her palm and bore her eyes into him. "That'll break their hearts."

"I think they'll be fine. They hardly notice when I'm home." He nodded and chuckled nervously. "Would it be awful if I were to say the only reason I let them stay is because they help with the rent?"

"Oh," she said with a pouty frown. "That is awful, but I'll wait to throw my glass of wine at you later. There are not enough people around us quite yet to appreciate the full dramatic effect."

"I'm serious. What if there weren't other women?"

She smiled half-heartedly and shook her head. "There are always other women with you, Draco. _Always_. I'm not the type of girl who finds it okay when her boyfriend is sleeping with someone else. In a _real_ relationship, I can be rather monogamous."

Draco was about to respond when Potter came up behind Penelope with a grim expression. He frowned at him, causing his date to turn around and stare up at her boss in alarm.

"Mr. Potter, what are you doing here?" she asked with a small, unsure smile.

"I need to speak with you, Malfoy," the man said. "It's urgent."

* * *

"He was found in his flat Saturday afternoon by his mother's house-elf," Potter told him, handing him a thick, manila file. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you."

Draco closed his eyes and licked his teeth, craning his head away from the bastard who gave him the worst news he had in years. His chest stuttered, begging to be released, but he refused to break down in front of Potter. They weren't friends but merely allies. Under the rarest of circumstances would he allow himself to be emotional in front of the former. Or even emotional at all.

Hoarsely, he inquired, "Are there any leads?"

"There have been a few suspects brought into custody, but nothing looks promising as of yet."

"So you have no leads?" Draco sharply asked, fixing Potter a glare.

The other wizard stuck out his chin defiantly. "This barely got bumped up to the Auror department, Malfoy. I had no idea what happened to Pucey, let alone there was a heinous murder investigation going down in law enforcement." His voice dropped into a whisper. "Whatever happened and whatever is going on, they were keeping a tight lid on it. We have to do the same. This is a high-profile crime meant to be kept out of the public."

"And how the bloody hell am I supposed to do that?" spat Draco. "I'm not the only friend Adrian had. I can't keep this from everyone."

"You will. As your supervising officer, that is an order. I will not have you compromise this investigation."

"This investigation," Draco waved the file in front of the Potter's face, "is mine. I can do with it as I please."

"It's not yours. I gave that to you, in breach of protocol, to look over to give you a piece of mind. I was being kind," he clipped icily. "There's no way I'm having you on this case, Malfoy. It's personal for you, which means your head won't be in the game, and I will not have your emotions costing us this investigation. So do me a favor and go defy the rule of interoffice relations with Penelope for the evening like you two have been for the last six months and then go home. Make sure to bring the file back in the morning. If you have some insight, feel free to let me know, but I'm serious. You will not be on this case."

Draco growled. "You're out of grounds with this. I will be on this case."

"No you are not," the man said crisply and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I will see you in the morning. Try and get some sleep, okay?"

Glowering at the man as he turned away, Draco dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands and clenched his teeth together, his face growing hot.

"Potter, wait. Do my parents know about this?" he asked.

"Unfortunately," answered Potter. "Your mother was having tea with Mrs. Pucey when her house-elf informed them both of her son's condition. I think she would probably like to talk to you."

* * *

When Draco returned to the table where Penelope was dwelling, she had already started tucking into her pasta. Taking notice of him, she put a hand over her mouth and continued to chew her food before wiping her mouth and asking, "Is everything all right? Mr. Potter sounded concerned about something."

"I'm sure you'll hear all about it in the morning at work," he said thinly and grabbed one of her hands, clearing his throat. "I'll dine with you this evening, but I'm afraid I will have to return you home right afterwards."

"With my knickers intact?" she questioned quietly with a disappointed frown.

"I'm sorry. I have to pay an unexpected visit to my parents this evening."

"Oh." Her mouth formed a perfect circle. "Well, we can continue our usual nightly activities another evening."

"I impatiently await."


	4. Chapter 4

Draco was only able to take a few bites of his food without sicking up over the table. He would have much preferred finishing off the wine but wasn't going get himself pissed in front of Penelope.

When she finished her meal, he escorted the witch to her flat, received a chaste peck on the cheek, and apparated to the outskirts of the manor. He walked up the stone pathway towards the gate and placed his hands on one of the cast-iron rods, the magic embedded deep within recognizing his Malfoy heritage. It swung open, and he treaded up the path towards his childhood home, smelling the evening air and damp earth from the spring rain.

At the front entrance, he pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, quietly entering. The moment he entered, he shirked his cloak and hung it on the coat rack. He scanned the area, searching for signs of life and glanced at his watch, knowing his parents already had dinner. His father was most likely in his office and mother may be having a spot of tea purposely spiked with Draught of Peace.

"Mippy," he called for the elf. The small creature appeared with a pop and bowed in reverence.

"Young Master Draco has returned. Mippy is so happy? What can she do for her master?"

"Can you tell me where my mother is?"

"Mistress is having tea in the blue room and will be happy Young Master is home. Mistress misses her son dearly."

True to Mippy's words, his mother dwelt in the blue room at the tea-table. She was in the seat facing the window, her back to him as she dropped a sugar cube into her tea and stirred it with her spoon.

"Mother," he said to her. She stilled and whirled around, her eyes somber but smile joyous.

"My boy," she beamed and sprinted from her seat like a young girl in her early teens instead of the aging woman that she was. In seconds, her arms were around his middle with her head resting on his chest. Humming in delight, she said, "You've come to see your old, withering mummy."

His mother may be getting older, but she was most certainly not withering.

"Ah, Mum," he chuckled, hugged her back. "You are not withering at all. You look the same as I did when I was little."

"You still are little."

Draco wasn't about to argue with the woman who was a head-in-a-half shorter than him. He patted her lovingly on the back and then pushed at her shoulders, solemnity in his demeanor. "I heard about Adrian. I'm so sorry you were there. I wish you would have let me know."

Eyes watering, her lips formed into a scowl and her fingers dug into his shirt. "The police forbade it. I had have thought you'd come sooner to see me considering it was four days ago when it happened."

"I didn't know. Potter informed me about Adrian an hour ago. The program is trying to keep this quiet."

"That's what they told me," she sniffled and delicately caressed her lower lashes, carefully catching the tears. "But it doesn't make sense. None of it does. Who would want to kill that boy. Out of all your little friends, sweetheart, he was the one I didn't have to worry about when you went to play at his house. Oh, and his mother!" she wept, burying her face into her son's shirt. "She is utterly heartbroken, and his father hasn't come out of his office since. Draco, please come home. It's not safe out there."

Sighing, he allowed his mother to cry freely on his shirt. "You know why I can't move back in."

"I'm sure we can persuade him in changing his mind considering what happened."

Not wanting to burst her delusional bubble, Draco let her believe that. Besides, he actually wasn't all that keen in moving back into the manor. What he wanted was a nicer flat and better pay. Maybe even a new girlfriend.

When his mother calmed down some, he peeled her off from him and sat her back down at the table. He watched as she took her cloth napkin and dabbed her splotched cheeks with it before taking a sip of her nearly forgotten tea. After swallowing, her eyes fluttered shut and she exhaled, the tension oozing out of her.

"Will you be a part of the investigation?" she asked softly, her hands gesturing to the tea set, telling him he was more than welcome to have a cuppa.

"Potter won't allow it," he professed. "He says it'll be too personal, and it could compromise the investigation. He demoted me to desk work for the time being."

"Oh," she whispered softly and placed her hands over her chest, a small but pleased smile on her face. "He listened."

"Pardon?"

"Earlier this evening he came for questioning, Very brief, but I asked him to keep you safe for me. Poor dear, I think I'll guilt-tripped him. He said he couldn't because you were one of the best field workers, so I may have…brought up one or two things from that past, causing him to see things my way."

"Mother," he groaned, refraining from throwing a tantrum. Staying out of the investigation was all his mother's fault because she saw him as fluffing three-year old learning how to fly on a new toy broom.

"It was you who wanted me to take this job," he reminded.

"Now it's me who wants you to be safe. Draco, the game is changing out there. It was dangerous when the Dark Lord was present, but everything that happened was expected. The criminals you are dealing with now are more dangerous than I could have ever thought possible. Their agendas aren't about taking over, they're about hurting people. With what happened at the UPA…"

"Mum," he said comfortingly and covered her hand with his. "What I do makes other people safe. It makes you safe."

Stubbornly, she lifted her chin and stated, "I regret urging you into the Auror program. I worry one day I may get a Floo call or a knock on the door. Sweetheart, please come home."

* * *

After his mother retired to bed, Draco apparated outside his father's office. Politely, he knocked on the door and opened it slightly, poking his head in. "Father, I'm visiting for the evening. I saw mother already."

Lucius was behind his desk, a quill in his hand and a glass of scotch next to it. Not looking up from his writing, he drawled, "Good to know. She's been disheartened for days, wondering when you were going to visit. The least you could've done, boy, was comfort your mother and give her peace of mind with Philip's son's death."

"I wasn't privy to the information until this evening."

His father made a noncommittal noise and said, "Your mother wants your permanent presence here, again. As much as it pains me seeing my wife want something she cannot have, I ask you again to find a proper witch and settle down. Regardless of how many courtships you can balance at once, Draco, those women will never replace the benefits of a wife. Not to mention how unseemly it is in living with two women."

"I'm not sleeping with them." Anymore.

"That's even worse."

Both men, unable to help themselves, shared a mirthful smirk, Lucius going so far as to crack a chortle. He set down his quill and offered the glass of scotch to his son. "You look tired, my boy. You obviously haven't been sleeping, but it's not because of Bianca and Theresa."

Lifting a brow at his father's knowledge of the girls' names, Draco admitted, "I've spent more time at work lately. Potter says that Gerard may be hiding somewhere in Germany. We're waiting for a confirmation before moving in."

"I doubt you'll be moving anywhere besides going to the loo down the hallway from your office. If I am to understand, your mother was rather persuasive in getting Potter to suspend you from the field."

Taking up his father's offer, Draco snagged the drink from the desk and snorted. He tempted telling his father the slight pay-cut that was surely to follow but refrained. He wasn't fishing for sympathy and didn't want to appear weak in front of him.

"That she was, but only for Adrian's case," he murmured bitterly into the glass. He drained it in a two swallows, his tongue tingling in delight at the expensive, preferable fine taste. He wasn't partial at all to the cheap shots at the Leaky Cauldron. Maybe if he was sneaky enough, he could swipe another bottle from the cellar before returning to his flat.

"I've meant to talk to you about a few matters. Important matters regarding your future, son." His father summoned another glass from the cabinet and filled it with another drink. "When your mother suggested you go into the Auror program, it seemed like the best idea at the time in restoring respectability to the Malfoy name. But…" He took a drink. "Now that we have some social status once more, have you given any thought about resigning and becoming something less life-threatening?"

Draco pursed his lips at his father's question. Yes, of course he fancied the idea of quitting his job, but aside from the pay and a dozy sod of a boss, he quite liked it. Well, he _had_ liked it. If he was going to be chained to a desk until further notice, then another occupational search was due.

"I guess you could say I've wondered about other employment," confessed Draco. "But not for the reasons that you may think. What are you suggesting? Go to uni?"

Lucius bounced his head from side to side as if toying with the idea. "Intriguing idea, going to school. And you've surpassed the age of delinquency, so your mother and I wouldn't have to worry about you making a bloody fool of yourself and with your money. Hmmm." He tapped his chin and slit his eyes, leaning forward. "If you are serious about taking to your studies, Draco, then I may consider being more lenient with the finances."

"I'm…" This was going rather fast. Going to school had only been a slip of a thought. Not something to take seriously. But before he could say no, it was best to mull it over before outright saying no to his father. If he hastily declined, it'd be rude and any chance of future pity money would be out of the question.

"Let me think about it for a little while," he told the man.

"Don't think too long, son. My charity _does_ have a time limit."

"I know."

* * *

"Have you seen Adrian lately?" Blaise asked, startling Draco into spilling his cup of coffee down his front.

"Blast!" he cursed and rifled through his top drawer and found some paper napkins to sop up the mess. He supposed it was a blessing that the coffee from the break room was never hot. He flung a glare at his friend in the doorway and answered honestly, "No, I haven't. Why?"

"Haven't heard from him in a while. Makes a bloke suspicious, is all." Blaise entered the office and made himself comfortable across his friend's desk, even kicking his feet up to rest on the wood. "_But_ I have seen Theo."

"Have you?"

With a lewd smirk, Blaise straightened his tie and discreetly pointed his wand at the office door, closing it.

"Should I scream rape?" Draco said in jest and chuckled.

"Like I was saying, I have seen Theo. In fact, since I'm in London again, I thought I'd see both of you. Saw him first;hope you're not too jealous. I just like him more."

"Where are you going with this? Some of us have to work, and it doesn't consist of making calls and throwing money."

"Someone needs a hard shag, and I never thought it'd be you. You usually have chits up the ying-yang. How the mighty have fallen. Anyway, I stopped by to see Theo before you. Miraculously enough, he was in his office and not doing whatever it is that he does to some unfortunate blighter. _And_ he wasn't alone." He jiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "But from where I was standing, I couldn't see anyone."

"Okay?" Draco said, unsure what Blaise was talking about. There had been someone in Theo's office who Blaise couldn't see. Draco's immediate thought was that he saw Granger, but the tart was hard to miss.

"Do you have any idea where I'm getting at?"

Draco shook his head.

"Bloody hell," Blaise cursed and scratched his jaw. "I'm talking about how there was someone under his desk."

Draco did _not_ need that image!

Grunting in his disgust, he pinched the skin between his eyes and attempted to burn the image of Granger orally pleasing his best friend out of his mind.

"You're looking all peaky. I haven't even gotten to the best part."

"There's a best part?"

"Theo was doing brilliant at first. When I first entered his office, I hadn't a clue anything was going on. But after a few moments, I caught on. I questioned it and of course he denied it. The lie was weak, and he knew it. He told me to leave, and here I am." He chuckled wryly, eyes glimmering mischievously. "Who knew Daphne was _that _naughty, right?"

"Daphne?" balked Draco and Blaise's smirked widened.

"So you know." Blaise's tone was even yet melodic. His feet fell from the desk, and he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "You know it wasn't her."

"It makes sense, though," lied Draco. Actually, it didn't make sense at all. Their bloody joke of a marriage two years ago was nothing short of a tragic affair. Both parties of the seven month partnership were terribly wounded but compliant and at ease the moment the Wizengamot granted them an annulment.

"No, it doesn't," sputtered Blaise. "They'd skip backwards through Hades before reconciling. Besides, Daphne was in Rome this morning and was successfully warming a lucky bloke's bed."

In that moment, Draco agreed with his mother that Adrian had been his only friend that she didn't have to worry about. The two friends he had left were nothing short of morally insane.

"All right. I'll get to the best part," announced Blaise, his lips turning into a frown. "So I knew it wasn't Daphne even when Theo tried to convince me it was. Growing bored of his excuses, I left and passed the office of Mrs. Weasley nee Granger who clearly wasn't inhabiting the area. I was about to leave when one of the pictures on her back shelf caught my attention. It was of our graduating class, and I thought a gander was in order. Haven't seen it in quite some time, so I go in and have a looksee along with a smirk of nostalgia and turned around to leave. A note on the desk draws my eye, and I instantly recognize it as Theo's handwriting. Do you know what it said?"

Draco rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Bleedin' cripes, Blaise. You could have just spit out that you discovered they were shagging. You wasted five minutes of my time."

Blaise pursed his lips and rubbed his chin. "You don't seem that surprised. In fact, it was like you already knew."

"I may or may have not seen something odd while taking advantage of Theo's hospitality at his flat the other night."

Whistling at the news, his friend pensively shook his head, the mischievous glint dying in his dark eyes. "You know…Weasley's not a bad bloke. I think I'm more fascinated with Granger, though. Who knew, right? I just hope Nott knows what he's getting himself into. Married women," Blaise dryly chuckled and twisted his mouth roguishly, "can be like unstable fireworks. They can either burn you right away or put on a good show and disappear in the end. But enough about that, have you gotten the chance yet to try my new place."

Relieved about the subject change, Draco said, "I took Clearwater last night. She rather enjoyed herself."

"Speaking of, mate, when are you planning on making the bint your one and only."

Draco made a noncommittal noise, focusing his attention back on the file in front of him, scowling at the numerous grammatical errors he made. He tempted sending it to Penelope, so she could proofread and remedy the mistakes for him but decided against it.

"When do you get off work?" droned Blaise, his tone bored.

"At seven if I'm lucky."

"Skive the rest of the day and hang with your best mate. I doubt anyone will take notice of your absence."

"You sure do not how to make a man feel good about themself, Zabini. Words like that, I'm surprised you don't have more friends."

"More friends are a nuisance. So many names to keep track of and that's if they're single. You have to remember birthdays and their mothers', too. By the way, does your mum still fancy tiger lilies."

"It's freesias now."

The office door opened and both men turned their heads at the intruder and internally groaned.

"Yes?" inquired Draco to his employer.

Potter stared at Blaise in annoyance but said nothing about the man's presence, instead tossing a verbal assignment at his worker. "During your lunch break, I need you to go over to Ron's and pick up his report."

"Weasley can turn in his own damned report," Draco snidely commented. "He's a big boy and can do it himself."

"He can't. He's taking care of his daughter, so be a good little wanker and go fetch that report and have it here by one o' clock and no later."

"Doesn't he have a bloody bird he can send it through, or has he gotten so poor, it's come to that?"

Blaise snickered, earning a revolting glare from Potter.

"That would be a foolish thing to do, Malfoy, and you know it. One o' clock. My office. My desk. Don't be late."

The door closed behind Potter, and Draco glanced at his watch and pouted. "I have to leave now, blast it." He stood up and straightened his blazer and tie, glaring at Blaise's smirking face. "Don't you have anything better to do than leer at me? Go and be…I don't know…productive or some rot. In fact, go visit my mum for a bit. She'll like that and oh...try not grate on my father's nerves too much. I caught him at a giving moment not too long ago, and the last thing I need is for you and your ill-behavior to ruin it all for me."

"Your lack of faith in me wounds me terribly." Blaise painted a faux hurt expression on his face with a hand over his chest.

* * *

**A/N:** I know it's kind of a filler, but I needed a smooth transition for the next chapter.

Please, R &R! :)


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm aware the plot is slow in taking off, but give it some time, please. Anyway, read and review. Tell me your thoughts, and if you have any questions or suggestions, I'm open to hearing them. I may not be able to answer them right away or even use the suggestions in the story, but know they will not fall on deaf ears.

Please enjoy!

* * *

Assuming (and rightly so) that Weasley would fail to appreciate Draco entering his humble abode via Floo, the blond chose to apparate a few blocks away from the home. Also, he had yet to visit the ginger's address since the bloke's last move five years ago. Previously, Weasley and Granger had lived in a small but comfortable and quaint cottage with a decently cared for garden outside of Ottery St. Catchpole.

It was not a habit of Draco's to visit the Weasleys' home regardless of where they dwelt, but the reasoning for his visit to their first home was to drop off a baby gift to them from his mother who attempted to reach stable ground with the couple in hopes of destroying family feuds and retaining some social status once more. After the war, becoming a respectable citizen of Magical England required getting in good graces with Potter and his two trusty sidekicks, and Narcissa Malfoy was no fool. She started delicately, going after the infamous couple first. It was all too easy, considering Weasley and Granger were the first to have a baby. His mother had sternly instructed him to deliver the expensive baby gift to their household at precisely noon that balmy day in March, and thank Gods, it wasn't Weasley who answered the door. It would have been bloody embarrassing, and both of them would have died from killing each other because the ginger git had been more of a temperamental fool than presently.

Parenthood and a smoldering hot wife mellowed the bloke out quite a bit.

Furthermore, the one who answered the door had not been Granger either, but her father and fluffing hell, he was nothing like Draco imagined. Not that he wondered what Hermione's parents looked like all that much. At a juvenile age, the absentminded wondered who was capable of creating such an annoying and unattractive character had flittered through his mind, but it was nothing in-depth.

Before his second year, the blond recalled catching a glimpse of Granger's parents in Diagon Alley but didn't take the time in stapling his precious Pureblood focus on the Muggles. For all he knew, they could have been infected with some visually contagious diseases. Like their daughter. The moment he first saw her, it was like she was a damned optical magnet, the effects worsening as she grew older. As he pondered previously, she was one of those peculiar creatures whose physical attractiveness flourished with each passing year.

Granger's father had been tall and intimidatingly so, standing 1.93 meters. Only a little more than five centimeters taller than Draco but still…

The man had been broad-shouldered with a close buzzed haircut with more patches of grey than brown. Also on the man's right forearm was some sort of Muggle tattoo with a pair of black crossed ship anchors over an English flag.

Bucking up courage, Draco had puffed his chest and dutifully and announced his name and purpose for visitation.

"_Malfoy, huh?" The man's accent was deep and grumbly, not at all a smooth tone like a man of good-breeding and high-class. Yet, his clothes were tailored and made from fine Muggle cloth._

"_Yes," he said with a bow of politeness._

"_The brat from my little girl's school?"_

_Heart sinking low in his stomach, Draco fancied the idea of making a run for it but hesitated when hearing a much more soothing and feminine voice from inside the small cottage. It sounded remarkably like Granger's and delivering the gift to her sounded peachier than the bint's murderous looking father._

_Alas, the woman appearing behind the man was short, curvy, and middle-aged, barely coming to the man's shoulders. She was unmistakably Mrs. Granger with a greying bob, resembling her daughter greatly with the exception of coloring. The older woman's hair was blonde beneath the aging tendrils and her eyes were a dark blue. Aside from those factors, Granger looked much like her mum._

Draco had not wasted much time talking or even mumbling uncomfortably. Clearly Granger had talked with her parents about his younger self and were not impressed, so he handed over the gift, bowed again, and sprinted away like a lunatic.

Presently, Draco lifted a square bit of parchment from his trousers and studied the address and then the neighborhood around him. Godric's Hallow was a perfect place for the upper middle class to reside and raise their two or three children. He then peered through the gated community at the high-valued homes and flawlessly paved cobblestoned streets before punching a series of numbers on the keypad located on his left.

"Place your wand in front of the circle above the keypad," an emotionless female voice alleged. Draco unsheathed it from his pocket and did as such.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, for your visit," said the voice and the gates opened. He sauntered through, keeping an eye out for Lion's Heart Drive. He had been told the road was third to the last street and located on the right down from Main. Increasing his pace, he marched up Main Street, passing by bustling, yet attractive mothers raging in their late twenties to early thirties. Some tossed him looks ranging from irate to confusion while others smiled flirtatiously. To those select few, he rewarded them and their young moppet an endeared wink.

After ten minutes, he found the street and searched for the number twenty-six, finding it at the end of the street. Muttering curses under his breath, he checked his watch and scoffed. He only had another ten minutes to get the file and return to work.

Stomping up the pathway towards the front door, Draco surveyed the property and hypocritically pondered why the couple needed such a semi-large estate if they only had one child. The house was clearly built for a family of five, seven if counting the parents. The front yard was large with lush grass and a sturdy oak tree, a quaint swing tied to a thick branch.

He knocked on the mahogany door and stuffed his hands into his pockets. A few moments later, much to his surprise, Granger opened the door. Doing a double-take, he awkwardly greeted her with a hesitant, "Hi."

"Hi," she replied with a perplexed frown of her and then formed her pink little mouth into an 'o' in revelation. "Oh, you're here for the Ron's file. Come in, come in."

Wordlessly, he allowed himself to be ushered into the lion's den, entering the entry where he saw cleanly scrubbed tile floors and light brown carpet. The walls were cream-colored with carefully crafted whorls in the plaster.

"I'm actually surprised to see you," Hermione said breathlessly which was when Draco noticed the flush in her cheeks. "Pardon my frazzled state, but I barely got home. Got a call from Ron telling about an emergency and George's shop and if it would be at all possible to rush home and take care of Rose for the rest of the day. He mentioned something about a file and someone picking it up. I thought it would be later. Goodness, it's lunch time. Why are you here?"

"Er…for the file, Granger," Draco said slowly, his brows cinching together.

Scoffing, she placed her hands on her canted hips and tossed him a bemused glare. "I know that, Malfoy. What I want to know is why you are here at such an hour. I wasn't expecting anyone until at least two or maybe three o'clock."

"Well, I'm sorry my presence isn't in tune with your bloody schedule. Potter sent me over here because he needed your husband's report immediately," Draco hissed and Hermione slit her eyes.

"What an uncomely time to send an employee on an errand. I'll have a word with Harry, and you probably haven't had a bite to eat since breakfast if even that. Come." She grabbed his tie and pulled on it causing Draco to teeter forward in alarm.

"Granger," he practically squeaked, trying to push her hand away. "I need that file, so I can return to the office in a timely manner."

To his astonishment, she rolled her eyes and gifted him a playful stare that caused him to be undeniably parched. She then asked, "When did you become such a Hufflepuff, Malfoy? I'm offering you lunch, and you will take it like a gracious, well-mannered boy I'm sure your parents raised you to be."

"Hufflepuff?" he sputtered at the insult.

"Yes. Since when has Draco Malfoy ever cared about silly things like being back to work on time?" she asked and tugged on his tie again.

"Since Potter became my boss," he answered with an annoyed growl and she laughed.

"You let me deal with big, bad, scary Harry. If he gives you any fluff about being late from your little gander here, you can notify me and I'll set him straight. Stupid boy sending his workers out on errands when it's time to eat. You need your strength for the field which is why I send Ron off with a pail of goodies. Oh, Malfoy, you seriously need to consider settling down. Either that or move back home. You clearly need a woman with a matriarchal touch to take care of you. Your socks aren't even matching."

Fighting the shame, he wondered how she was able to tell with his trousers being a respectable length.

"Not all of us are cut out for marriage, and I don't really need your charity. If you think I'm going to tell anyone about…you know…then you have nothing to worry about."

Hermione let go of his tie, the light and mirth fading from her demeanor, replacing them with a barricade of iciness.

"I was offering out of kindness, Malfoy," she informed coldly. "You think I would ever try to buy your silence by offering you lunch? That's absurd. I know you won't tell." Her voice had turned soft at the end, her focus off in some corner. "Theo assured me you wouldn't. I just hope he can say the same for Blaise."

"Blaise knows?" Draco feigned surprise.

"Shut up," she quietly snapped and protectively crossed her arms. After a pregnant pause, she sighed and said, "I'll get you that file, but you will have lunch first, all right?"

Not waiting for an answer, she grabbed his tie again and led him out of the entry and through the sitting area and passed a swing-door where he saw a humble-sized dining table in the middle of the room.

"Sit," she commanded, pointing at the table with the three chairs. "I'll be out in a few minutes." She disappeared through another swing door on the opposite side of the room. Awkwardly, he stood, studying the room. Truthfully, from the moment he arrived, there was something odd about the house. It didn't take him long to realize what was bothering him. There were no portraits at all. Not in the entry, in the sitting room, or the dining area which was rather different. It was Magical English culture to have portraits throughout the home and from where Draco was standing, he couldn't see one. The walls were plain, giving the home an almost empty feeling.

"Who are you?" asked a small, high-pitched voice from behind. He stilled and whirled around to see a little girl about six with dark ginger hair, a freckled nose, and cornflower blue eyes. She wore a light pink cotton nightdress with a small, galloping unicorn prints on the material. In her hand was the fluffiest looking stuffed bear Draco had ever seen.

"Hello," he greeted with a small wave. "I'm Mister Malfoy. How do you do?"

"All right, I guess," she said, her skinny shoulders bouncing up to her ears in a shrug. "Where's my mum?"

The swing door on the opposite side of the room swung open to reveal Hermione coming through levitating a platter a food. She set it on the table with a cautious wave of her wand, drawing Draco's attention to the wood, recognizing it as his late Aunt Bella's.

"What did you make for me, Mummy?" the little girl asked as she toddled towards a chair. Draco then noticed how pale and thin she looked and remembered she experienced surgery only days before. He also noticed that Rose looked exactly like her mum with the exception of the Weasley coloring. The child's hair was thick and curly, almost to the point of bushy. Her front teeth also appeared longer than normal.

Rose Weasley was not ugly in the least but, indeed, Potter's brats were far better looking. Draco wasn't worried, though. If the little girl was anything like her mother, then she'd grow into a fit young lady.

"Awww," the girl lamented at seeing the steaming bowl of tomato soup. "Can I at least get have a grilled cheese sandwich with it?"

"Sorry, love," her mother apologized. "But remember what the Healer said. 'No solids for a week', but I'll let you have an extra scoop of ice cream for dessert tonight. I think that's fair."

"Strawberry?"

"Of course."

Rose climbed up on a chair and situated herself in front of her bowl and dipped her spoon into the rich, scarlet liquid. The aroma from the soup seeped through the air, tickling Draco's nose and his mouth watered in anticipation.

Merlin, if it was homemade…

"Come sit, Draco," Hermione said and gestured to the seat next to her. She set down to two dishes by the chair, one holding a hearty sandwich with thick, whole grain slices of bread along with sliced apples and mini carrots on the side. The other dish was a bowl filled with what appeared to be chunky potato soup with chives.

The smell of food, home-cooked and made with care sunk deeply into his nose and on their own accord, his feet marched him to the seat where his lunch dwelt. When his bum hit the cushioned chair, his senses went into overload and he had yet to even take a bite. It was simply overwhelming never having anyone, let alone a woman, prepare a meal for him. The last female to do so was back at the manor with Mippy the kitchen elf. On holidays and by invitations were when he basked in the enjoyment of having finely prepared dishes.

He bit into the sandwich first and resisted the urge to moan because he always thought it silly when people moaned over food and regardless of how effing spectacular the meal tasted, and Draco was not going to succumb to such a ridiculous thing. Instead, he chewed his first bite, swallowed and steadily told Hermione, "This is good."

Halfway through his lunch and when Hermione was nearly done with her chicken salad, Rose had grown bored with her food and set aside her spoon with an audible sigh. "Mummy, why is Mister Malfoy here?" she asked and then yawned. She rubbed her eyes and smacked her lips sleepily.

"He works with Daddy, pumpkin. He needed to pick something up for him and take it back to work. I thought it would be nice to invite him to have lunch with us."

"Like how that one man comes over sometimes. What's his name?"

Draco blinked at that and tossed Hermione a questioning glance and thinking, _Great Gods, she lets the bloody wanker into her home where she has sex with her husband and where the innocent live? What kind of wife does that?_

_A bad one_, concluded Draco, _and not the kinky, need-a-spanking kind_.

"Rose," Hermione whispered in admonishment and the girl blushed in abashment.

"Uh oh, I forgot. I'm not supposed to talk about it." After a beat. "To anyone."

"Thank you."

More than a little uncomfortable, Draco itched to tell Granger off but thought it better to finish his meal because it could very well be the first and last time a human woman ever cooked for him for a long time. His spoon dove into the chunky potato soup and brought some to his lips and wanted to hum because surely it was fit for the gods. The subtle starchiness of the potato mixed with the creaminess of cheese and whole milk swarmed inside his mouth. His tongue came into contact with something tender and smoky and he quivered in delight. The taste of bacon permeated his tongue and shot chills down his spine. Great Merlin and Salazar's rod, it wasn't a wonder why Theodore the Wanker couldn't simply let her go. The bloke's mother had died when he was no more than three and up until Daphne, he had never had a proper relationship with women. Sure, he seduced a few Ravenclaws and fellow Slytherins out of their virginity at Hogwarts, but Theo never had a proper connection with a female.

Call Draco soft or plainly pathetic, but he had truly thought Daphne was the right one for his mate. She was pretty, not too smart, and could hold her own in an argument. Her relationship with Theodore had gone relatively smoothly up until they decided to be spontaneous and elope while they were vacationing in Iceland. Apparently, the night following consummation of the newlyweds, Theodore and his skills hit the gambling room while Daphne visited the bar for a little buzz before going to cheer her new husband on at the poker table. One small drink turned into several and several turned into too many. Needless to say, she woke up with a hangover and a poor sod named Anton in his hotel room.

On a similar note, Theodore woke up in a very serious predicament. He'd won the game, drowning in bills and coins at the expense of his fellow players. One would think they'd be angry, possibly even murderous if they were the type but, alas, no. Mister Goðrúnarson was impressed by the lad's card skills and saw an opportunity. The man possessed a daughter of eighteen and to him was a complete waste of space, money, and time. He kept the drinks flowing and purposefully gambled away his daughter without even a grunt of dismay. Theodore won her, and she had all been too exited in getting away from her father. Her enthusiasm mixed with his insobriety caused another rift in his and Daphne's short matrimony. From there, accusations were tossed at one another and words of wrath, too. Three weeks later they filed for divorce. The Wizengamot, being a group of old-fashioned codgers, denied them that relief and ordered them to take marriage counseling which forced poor Mr. Lang into early retirement. After his departure, the unhappy couple asked the Wizengamot for a divorce once more and which was granted. Court dates concerning money and property trudged on for months before both parties were satisfied.

Draco finished his soup and his glass of water and dabbed at his lips with the provided cloth napkin and muttered, "Thank you," to Granger, still irked by the news that she invited her lover into a house that was supposed to be full of trust. It had him wondering if his father had ever taken a mistress or several. Growing up, Draco had never doubted the man's love for his mother, but he'd once thought that Weasley and Granger had the perfect marriage. It reaffirmed his knowledge that no one and nothing was perfect, and everyone was fully capable of betrayal and dishonesty.

Even a goody Gryffindor like Granger.

"You are welcome," she said curtly.

"Am I allowed to tell Daddy about Mister Malfoy, Mummy?" asked Rose in a whisper. Her head rested on her forearm and her eyelids were almost closed.

Hermione coughed throatily, obviously annoyed by her daughter's question. "Yes, you can tell him, but I plan to when he arrives home this evening. He'll want to make sure his report made it to the office. And look at you. Your medicine must've kicked in." She got up from her seat and walked around the table and picked up her daughter. The child's head rested on the woman's shoulder with her arms and legs lazily draped everywhere.

The child was toted off, leaving Draco alone in the quiet, naked room. It then hit him like a chilled, damp windstorm as to why there were no portraits in the house. Paintings were partial in chatting about gossip, especially those depicting departed family members. Granger, being Muggle-Born, lacked an ancestor to place on the wall. Weasley on the other hand could've probably collected a few in his life time, for instance Fred Weasley or even Molly Weasley. Draco reckoned that the Madam of the household would not appreciate clucking, tattling tongues for when she invited her lover over for an illicit visit. It was probably difficult enough keeping her daughter quiet. She could have merely _Obliviated_ the girl but was loving and smart enough to refuse such a sickly task.

When Hermione returned, she was carrying Ron's file. He stood up from the table and accepted it with a courteous nod.

"Thank you," he said, "for this and the lunch. It was hospitable of you, but now that we're alone-"

She raised a hand as to keep him from continuing, an enlightened smile on her lips. "I'm flattered. And I'll be honest, I did have a little crush on you when I was younger. But you obviously know that I'm in no way fit to entertain a third party, Mr. Malfoy." She exhaled softly and reached to pat him on the chest. "Though you are very attractive."

Draco frowned and peered down at the faultless manicure that were Granger's fingernails. They were connected to a pretty and soft looking hand. That hand was a part of one lovely woman. Nevertheless, he was not going to proposition her in hopes of becoming her second lover.

"I wasn't propositioning you in hopes of becoming your second lover, Mrs. Weasley." He teased himself a bit by caressing the back of her hand with one of his digits before dropping his arm. Bullocks, her skin was soft! He resisted in shivering at the thought of her soft, experienced hands doing naughty magic on his person. But he couldn't help flash a smirk. "So you had a crush on me, huh?"

"Years ago," she said and took back her hand, a faint blush pinking her cheeks. "After the war when everything had settled. I admired your goal for redemption, but I was with Ron at the time, so I never pursued you."

"Regrets?" He had to ask. He had to know if there had been anything there beyond his vivid wank fantasies which were reoccuring ever since he saw her again, standing in his best mate's kitchen wearing the man's old Quidditch uniform and looking nine kinds of guilty.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head and said, "Rose," as if the name explained everything.

Draco nodded and slipped his hands inside his pockets. "What I was going to ask is that if you…cared for Theo. He's my mate and despite not approving what's going on between you two, I want to make sure he's looked after."

A somber expression trickled over Granger's face. She cocked her head to the side and she told him, "Theodore is aware of my feelings for him. He also is aware of my feelings for my husband. I love Ron very much and married him for that reason. I may have broken my vow in staying faithful to him, but it will be him I grow old with. I've told Theodore this and he understands."

Knowing he was meddling in territory best left for the woman standing in front of him and his best mate, he still foolishly jumped in and tattled, "He told me he thinks he can get you in the end."

Unperturbed by his information, she asked in mild confusion, "The end of what?"

"You know, Granger. The end. The affair will end sometime, I assume."

"Yes, but it will not be in his favor," she said resolutely. "Though I care for him deeply, Malfoy, it is not him I have a child with."

"Perhaps I should let him so. It might soften the blow."

"We're not children, so I shall have to remind him tomorrow when I see him."

"It may break his heart," he lightly said, a small smile on his lips.

"I wasn't aware that Slytherins had any," she sassily retorted and then sobered. "He'll be fine. He's not the type to mope around and pine. You know that."

To be continued...


End file.
